


The Mother We Share

by BreathOfThePhoenix



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Family Dynamics, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Loss of Parent(s), Pureblood Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:28:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28740255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreathOfThePhoenix/pseuds/BreathOfThePhoenix
Summary: When Hermione's understanding of her family is altered by the death of a classmate's parent, she must learn to navigate her strange new world and everything that comes with it, including her new sister, Pansy Parkinson, and a certain blond Slytherin.***temporary hiatus***
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 144
Kudos: 289





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome!
> 
> Thank you MrsRen for the plunny all those months ago, and to MsMerlin for helping me untangle my thoughts before I started writing. 
> 
> An even bigger thank you to my alpha, Curly_Kay, and my beta, PotionChemist! Without you both, this story (and I) would be a mess. Love you both!
> 
> Beautiful cover artwork by dreamsofdramione
> 
>  **Trigger Warning** There is a very small mention of abortion at the end of this chapter. This work also discusses the loss of a parent. There are no other triggers.  
> Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury, and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended.

****

**14 October 2005**

I was running late. Again. I should have really been used to the morning scramble to get up and out the door in a reasonable amount of time, but in all my twenty-six years I just couldn’t get the hang of it. 

The mid-October weather had brought in a wave of warmth that no one had been expecting and I suddenly found myself digging out my summer robes once more. Ever since I was a child, my birthday had signalled the end of summer. I would fold all my lighter clothing into bins and my parents would put them in storage until the next year. My mum had always warned me about keeping a few items in my closet ‘just in case’ but for some reason, I had chosen to ignore her this year. 

I made a mental note to phone her on my lunch and let her know. It had been a while since I’d last called her anyway.

Making my way into the kitchen, I tugged on my Mary-Janes as I walked and tried not to stumble into the wall. It was oddly quiet, something I still wasn’t used to since Ginny had moved out only last month. We were both finally making enough money to afford our own flats, though I knew it was only a matter of time before she moved in with her boyfriend—some Bulgarian she met when the Harpies were playing there. 

“Fucking shite,” I cursed, noticing the time. I grabbed my bag from the bench by the Floo and tossed the powder in. “Diagon Alley!”

On the corner of Diagon Alley and Horizont Alley stood a tall brick building with large windows on the main floor. The weathered sign above the door read ‘Belfast and Ashmere Apothecary’ in cream letters, the only real way for anyone to know what we were. The owner, Mr Belfast, kept the storefront simple, opting to forgo some of the flashy advertising tactics people had taken up after the war. So many businesses were trying to get back on their feet and were doing what they could to stand out. He claimed that the products would speak for themselves and that neon should only ever appear at a nightclub.

I pushed open the large front door, and a gentle chime sounded around me. The main part of the store hadn’t changed much since I’d started working here; on one side, a long counter stretched the entire length of the room, positioned in front of multiple shelves that held an array of coloured vials and casks. Smaller tables were scattered throughout the floor, filled with more innocuous brews for people to browse on their own.

It reminded me of one of the candy shops my parents used to take me to once a year. I’d save up all of my allowances just for that one day. Each item was studied meticulously before I’d place it in the brown paper bag. I wanted to make sure that I was using my money wisely and not wasting a single pound of it. 

“Good morning, Miss Granger,” greeted Mr Belfast. He was an older man with long grey hair and fine wrinkles around his eyes, reminding me of what I once imagined an old wizard would look like. “St Mungo’s sent this in. Another order for Calming Draught and Pepper-Up Potion, and a double order of Sleeping Draught.” 

“Hello, Mr Belfast,” I said, taking the piece of parchment from his outstretched hand. “I’ll get these going right away. Can you let Ms Desmond know that her order will be ready for pickup at noon? I just need to cool and bottle it. Oh, and have you heard anything from Neville yet? I placed an order last week for some of the plants he picked up in South America.”

The older man let out a gruff laugh. “Mr Longbottom sent an owl earlier this morning. He said he’ll be by after lunch today.” 

Grimacing at my boss’s subtle reminder that I was late, I nodded my head. “That’s great, thank you.” 

Smiling at the thought of the rare ingredients I knew Neville would have for me, I made my way down to the basement where my potions lab was set up. It was an open space with multiple workbenches in the middle, and shelves upon shelves of ingredients and utensils lining the walls. I waved my wand and adjusted the lights and temperature in the space to something more comfortable for the early hour. I still hadn’t had a coffee and I could feel a migraine coming on as a result. 

Decades ago, when Mr Belfast built the apothecary with his now late partner, Mr Ashmere, they’d always intended for the products they sold to be produced in house as much as possible. They equipped the workspace with everything one would possibly need—including several storage rooms, all set to varying temperatures and lighting. It was a dream to be working at a place like this, especially so early in my career—even more so for someone like Mr Belfast.

He had made a name for himself in Diagon Alley as one of the best potion masters in Europe. He had been the one to train Snape and had offered me the same opportunity when I finished my NEWTs. After completing a two-year mastery, Mr Belfast hired me as the full-time potioneer, allowing him to focus on the front end of the shop as he got closer to retirement. 

I took a look at the order for St Mungo’s and levitated a few large cauldrons from their spots on the wall. Quickly, I set each workbench up for a different potion so that I could complete the order as efficiently as possible. Managing multiple potions at once was something Mr Belfast had taught me right away. On my first day, he told me if I couldn’t figure out how to multitask, I might as well quit then. 

I allowed myself to fall into my work, putting all my focus onto the rhythmic chopping, slicing, and stirring that encompassed potion making. It wasn’t that my life was overly stressful—in fact, Harry and Ron thought my life was too boring—but I liked that for a few hours I didn’t have to worry about anything. 

* * *

It was nearly noon when a knock on the door pulled my attention away from cutting Valerian sprigs for the Sleeping Draught. 

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but there’s someone here to see you,” said Mr Belfast apologetically. 

Not wanting to take my eye off the sprigs, I merely shook my head. Harry was early for our lunch date. “Okay, I’ll be up in a few minutes. I just want to finish the last of St Mungo’s order. I’m sure Harry won’t mind waiting for me again.”

“It’s not Mr Potter. It’s Mr Corbyn. He’s here on behalf of the Ministry, though he didn’t say why.” 

I ran through the mental catalogue of the Ministry employees I knew. No one by the surname of Corbyn. Briefly, I hoped Harry hadn’t been injured on a mission. The thought was squashed quickly when I remembered that Harry hadn’t been on a mission in nearly six months due to his promotion. It was unlikely that he’d be sent on one now.

“Alright, I’ll be up in a moment.”

After bottling the potions and placing them in their protective packaging, ready to be sent to St Mungo’s, I grabbed my purse and made my way upstairs. The shop was empty save for Mr Belfast and Mr Corbyn, both of whom were standing by the counter. 

Mr Corbyn’s dark brown hair had small hints of grey around his temples and was styled back and off his face, highlighting his bright eyes and strong jaw. The dark grey suit he was wearing clung to his form as he leaned against the counter like I’d seen male models do in magazines, accentuating what looked like an athletic body.

“Miss Granger, hello. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He stepped away from the counter and strode over to me, his hand outstretched. “I’m Andrew Corbyn. I’m a solicitor from Corbyn and Davids in Oxford. Are you available this afternoon?”

Taking his hand and grasping it, I eyed Andrew hesitantly. “I work until five today—”

“Take the afternoon, Miss Granger. You said yourself that you’ve completed the order for St Mungo’s. I’ll see you on Monday,” Mr Belfast interrupted. “It was nice to meet you, Mr Corbyn.”

I wrinkled my nose, unhappy with the way Mr Belfast appeared to be shooing me out. “I’m sorry, I must have missed it. Why are you here?” I asked.

Andrew reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a business card. “I’m here on behalf of my client and the Department of Family Affairs at the Ministry.” 

“I see.” I examined the card with its professional script and image of Andrew flashing a smile. “If I’m going to be gone for the rest of the afternoon, I should at least clean up downstairs and—”

Mr Belfast cut me off again. “Not to worry, I’ll take care of it all. I’ll make sure Mr Longbottom’s ingredients are stored properly as well. Enjoy your weekend, Miss Granger.”

I mumbled thanks and paused as Andrew moved ahead to open the door for me. Nodding politely, I walked out of the shop, the solicitor only a step behind.

The sunny streets were crowded with people running errands on their lunch breaks and I found myself bumping into his side just to avoid colliding with someone else. It seemed everyone was taking advantage of the beautiful weather while we still had it.

“Does Mr Belfast always refer to people by their last name?” asked Andrew as we walked along the cobblestone street.

“Strictly. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him call someone by their given name. In all honesty, I’m not even sure I know what _his_ first name is. Every note I’ve received from him is just signed ‘Mr Belfast.’”

The further we walked, the more the knot in my stomach grew. I wanted to ask what this was about. Why was a lawyer taking me to the Department of Family Affairs? The last time I had been there was a year after the war when I restored my parents’ memories and needed to ensure they were included in all of my personal documents and will. 

Beyond that, the only reason someone would ever need to go there was in the events of a marriage, a birth, or a death.

Just as we approached The Leaky Cauldron, the door swung open and Harry stepped out, likely expecting to head towards the apothecary to pick me up. I breathed out a sigh of relief and threw myself into his arms. 

“Hermione, hey, are you alright? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you early for lunch—or anything for that matter.”

I stepped back and motioned to Andrew. “This is Andrew Corbyn. We’re going to the Department of Family Affairs.” I rolled my eyes. “He won’t tell me why.”

The two men shook hands and Harry smiled. “We’ve actually met before. Corbyn has come in to the DMLE to assist with a few family legal matters.”

“Good to see you again, mate,” Andrew said. “Hopefully those notes on that case in Bibury helped out?”

“They did. Thanks again for that.”

“Go on without me,” I said, interrupting their conversation. I was impatient and just wanted to get this over with. “I’ll owl you when I’m free. If you don’t hear from me by five, send in the armed guards.” 

“The armed—” Harry sighed. “You’ll be fine. But let’s grab a drink tonight. I want to hear about whatever’s going on.”

I gave him a quick hug before following Andrew into the pub. He weaved through the tables to the door that led out into Muggle London. Silently, I wondered why we were heading in that direction.

“It’s easier to take the street entrance than to Floo in, especially at this time of day,” he explained. “Do you know where the phone booth is on Great Scotland Yard?”

Nodding my head, I followed him to the nearest Apparition point. “I’ll meet you there,” I said, allowing the familiar tug of travel to whisk me away.

* * *

After the war, the Ministry upped its security; all visitors were now required to check in at the front desk and obtain a badge that only allowed them access to certain areas. The only area that a non-registered visitor could access was the atrium and the hallway that led to the entrances. 

“Name?” asked a sour-looking wizard sitting behind one of the desks. His eyes never left the parchment in front of him, his long quill poised and ready to begin writing.

“Andrew Corbyn with the Department of Family Affairs. Here to register Hermione Granger as my guest.”

“Reason for visit?”

“It’s confidential,” Andrew responded. “Family affairs and all.”

The wizard pursed his lips and finally looked up at me. “I see,” he tutted. The faint sound of his quill scratching against the page just barely drowned out his annoyed mutterings about policies and having to do more work than he used to.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was annoyed with me specifically and not actually the change in Ministry security. I _was_ partly to blame for the destruction during my fifth year and the infiltration while we were hunting Horcruxes. Even with an Order of Merlin, First Class, and the Golden Girl nickname, not every person I came across loved me and what I had done.

It was refreshing. 

A small badge hovered over the desk with both mine and Andrew’s names on it, along with the areas I had access to. I watched as the man behind the desk tapped the form in front of him, causing the parchment to fold into a plane and take off into the air. 

He gestured to the floating badge. “Well? You’re free to go.”

“Do I need to bring it back when I’m through here?” I asked.

“No. Your pass will expire as soon as you leave the building.”

I pressed my lips together and plucked the badge from the air before securing it to the front of my robes. Andrew led the way to the lifts and we waited for one to arrive. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” I asked, stepping aside when a large group of witches and wizards stepped out. 

“Confidential until my client is present, I’m afraid.”

The lift ride was silent and I let my thoughts stew and build. Andrew had proven he was who he said he was, and the fact that he was able to register me as his visitor reassured me even more. I was less concerned about the validity of my needing to be there and more concerned about what could possibly be so important that I had to be pulled out of work for a full afternoon.

The door opened and I stepped out into another hallway, following Andrew. We entered a familiar door with the department name clearly marked on it, and then past another welcome desk. The receptionist gave us a kind smile but I saw the way her eyes drifted over Andrew’s arse. 

“Right through here,” he said as we approached one of the many offices in the department. 

I stepped into the office, immediately taking in the oversized window that was charmed to have a view of London. An older wizard, closer in age to Mr Belfast than Andrew, stepped forward and I immediately recognised him from when I came in to change my will.

“Mr MacManus,” I greeted, taking the man’s hand, “it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“You as well. Please, have a seat.” He motioned towards the desk situated in front of a wall of shelving. There were two large leather chairs facing the desk, one of which was already occupied by a witch with shoulder-length black hair. 

She turned around and our eyes locked. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Pansy Parkinson snapped. 

I lifted my hands, palms facing forward. “Your guess is as good as mine.” Taking an uneasy step towards the chair, I paused to see how she would react before taking another. 

Mr MacManus sank into his chair across from us, while Andrew summoned a chair and sat next to Pansy. 

Sparing a glance in her direction, I spoke quietly. “I’m sorry to hear about your mum passing away. I can’t imagine what that must be like.”

“No, you can’t.” Her voice was cold and hard, completely lacking the notes of grief I had expected.

The loss of Pansy’s mother had been on the front page of all the papers for the last few days. She had passed suddenly, leaving Pansy alone to run the Parkinson estate. The reporters had waxed poetic about how tragic it was for Pansy to lose her mother while her father, Peregrine, had been missing since the end of the war. 

“That’s actually why you’re both here,” Mr MacManus began, knocking a stack of parchment against his desk. “We have obtained copies of Orielda Parkinson’s will, and it’s pertinent that you both be here for the reading of it.”

My brows pulled together and my lips parted. “I don’t understand…”

“My apologies, Miss Granger. Perhaps we should start with this.” He lifted a folded sheet of parchment from the pile in front of him and duplicated it, handing a copy to both Pansy and me.

My hand was unsteady as I gripped the corner of the page. Though I didn’t immediately recognise the script, there was something eerily similar about the way the letters slanted. 

The handwriting reminded me of my own.

_December 1981_

_Hermione and Pansy,_

_If you’re reading this, it means that something has happened to me and I was unable to tell you myself. Please know that this was never my intention. I wanted to be the one to bring you both together, but as life tends to be, things don’t always go as we planned them._

_Not long after Peregrine and I were betrothed to marry, I discovered I was pregnant with his child. I was thrilled at the idea of starting our family together, but when I told him the news, he tried to force me to terminate. It wouldn’t do for the heir to his estate to be a bastard child. It felt as if my heart were shattered into a million pieces. I couldn’t understand why we couldn’t just move our wedding a month sooner. But he insisted._

_So I hid the pregnancy. I cast glamours and charms to prevent Peregrine and our families from ever discovering the truth. He believed I was no longer pregnant and we continued with our October wedding as planned._

_In my youth, I had ventured into Muggle London and was already comfortable around Muggles. At first, it was purely fascination, but over the years I began to love them for their simplicity and joy at the mundane. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to have my future child adopted into a magical family, so I made it my mission to find a suitable Muggle family to raise my baby._

_That was when I found the Grangers—Evelyn and Harrison. They were a young couple who had been struggling to conceive, and I immediately felt a warmth for them. They were trusting and caring and ambitious—everything I wanted my own child to be. So I opened up to them. I told them about my world, I showed them magic and all of its limitless abilities, and asked if they would be willing to protect my unborn baby when the time came. They vowed protection and love, and I vowed security and stability for them._

_After long days of discussing and consideration, they agreed, and on 19 September 1979, they officially adopted my first-born daughter. They named her Hermione Jean Granger._


	2. Chapter 2

**14 October 2005**

As I tried to continue reading, the words on the page faded in and out of focus. The revelations in the letter conflicted with what I'd been led to believe my entire life, and it was completely overwhelming.

_Hidden pregnancy._

_The Grangers._

_My daughter._

Pansy spoke first, her voice shaking as much as I imagined mine would have if I were able to form a proper thought. "I don't understand. My mother had another child before me?"

Mr MacManus cleared his throat. "She did. When she secured the Grangers as adoptive parents, she reached out to me and began the process of creating her will and ensuring that Hermione was protected. No one in the magical world was to know that she was a pureblood until the time came."

"I don't fucking believe it," Pansy snapped. "I spend my entire fucking life being raised to be a proper pureblood wife and heiress to the Parkinson estate, and now I find out that that's not even the case? Do I even get my inheritance?"

"Of course you will, Miss Parkinson. Your mother ensured that both of her daughters would be very well taken care of. In another letter—" Mr MacManus flipped through a few pages before laying one out on the desk in front of us "—she says that you are both to take over as heads of the estate."

"No. No way. I'm not doing that."

Andrew shifted in his seat. "If you don't agree to this, you'll lose everything."

Wood scraped against the floor as Pansy pushed her chair back and stood. She opened her mouth a few times, though no words came out. With a burst of frustration, she turned on her heel and left the room. I could hear the angry click of her heels as she retreated through the department.

"Miss Granger, are you alright?" asked Mr MacManus. "I understand that this is a lot to take in, but Andrew and I are here to help you adjust to this. We have all of the paperwork here and—"

"I need to leave. I-I can't be here."

I fumbled for my bag, the letter still clenched in my other hand. I hadn't even finished it and I didn't care. Blinking rapidly, I tried to say something else to Andrew and Mr MacManus, but nothing came out.

My feet carried me out of the office and back towards the lifts, my finger jabbing at the call button. I was vaguely aware of someone approaching me from behind, but it wasn't until the lift arrived and a hand rested on my back that I realised it was Andrew guiding me out.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay. You look really upset."

I looked at him incredulously. "And how would you feel if you suddenly found out your entire life was a lie?"

"I would probably want to smash something," he replied simply.

Pressing my lips together, I nodded once and stepped out into the Atrium. "Well, not everyone handles their emotions with violence."

My feet moved quickly towards the Floo. The conflicting feelings from earlier raged within me and I thought I might faint. People were beginning to return from their lunch breaks and the crowd ahead of me was overwhelming. I needed to leave. To get fresh air and clarity and to scream.

Stepping into the already green flames, I called out my parents' address. My mind was full of questions that only they could answer.

* * *

When I arrived, they weren't there. It made perfect sense—it was a Friday afternoon and they had a dental practice to run. Rather than leaving or finding somewhere else to go, I waited for their return.

There were so many memories scattered throughout the home, each of them leaving an acidic taste in my mouth. All of the Christmases and birthdays, the sofa where I sat when McGonagall gave me my Hogwarts letter, the dining room table where my parents sat as I Obliviated them.

"No wonder they were so calm when we found out I was a witch," I muttered angrily. "They'd already known for eleven fucking years."

My fingers trailed along the bookshelves filled with the classics that had instilled in me my love of reading, down the hall where our family photos hung, into the kitchen where we had breakfast together every morning when I was home. There was a stack of old newspapers on the edge of the counter and I almost disregarded them, until a moving image caught my eye.

 _The Daily Prophet_.

I hadn't even remembered the fact that my parents were subscribed to the paper. After their memories were returned, they wanted to stay in the loop with the magical world, so I paid for a subscription and had copies sent to their house.

It meant they would have found out about my birth mother's death the same day I did, and they hadn't said anything then. They had to have known that this was coming and they hadn't even warned me.

As the grandfather clock in their corner of the sitting room chimed five, I heard the telltale sound of a car door slamming. I made my way back to the living room to wait for them. My mother's cheery voice carried into the house and I heard her laughter as she told my father about her last patient.

There was a click and the front door opened.

"Hermione!" my mum exclaimed when she saw me. "I didn't think you were coming over today; I would have picked up some takeaway."

Hot tears burned in the corner of my eyes as another bout of betrayal thrashed within me. I'd been tamping it down for hours now, but the sight of my mother, her excitement to see me so pure, was threatening to expose me before I could even utter a word.

"Sweetie? What's wrong?"

My shoulders shook and I gasped for air. I thrust the letter towards her as my knees buckled and I sank into the sofa.

"I thought we were past the lying," I cried. "I thought we had worked through all of this years ago."

The room was quiet save for the ticking of the clock as my mother read the letter.

"Harrison," she called uneasily. "Come here."

I was vaguely aware of my dad walking into the room and their quiet murmurs. Bringing my knees to my chest, I wrapped my arms around them, hoping that if I made myself as small as possible, perhaps I could contain everything.

"Would you like some tea?" my dad asked. "Or coffee?"

"I'd like some fucking answers."

"Hermione Jean," my mum scolded. "Don't you talk to your father that way."

"My father?! According to that letter"—I jabbed my finger towards the letter in her hand—"he is _not_ my father. According to that letter, everything you've ever told me was a lie."

Immediately, guilt settled in my bones. My father looked distraught, his face unchanging but emotion clearly visible in his eyes. I knew my words were harsh, but I felt them, every single syllable.

I stood up, my shoulders back and defiant, and faced my parents, taking in the details I had never noticed before. All of the ways I was different from them. My mothers hair, while curly, was nowhere near as wild as mine, and the green hues in my father's brown eyes conflicted with the gold in my own. They were both tall, while I stood five inches shorter than my mum.

It was something that I had never questioned growing up. Genetics were funny things and I had always assumed that my parents' traits just looked a bit different when blended together and spit out to make me. But knowing what I knew—and barely understood—perhaps it made more sense that I wasn't theirs.

"Hermione," my mother pleaded, "you have to understand, we didn't have a choice. It was all—"

"Didn't—didn't have a choice? Seriously?" I scoffed, turning my back on them and looking out the window. "For twenty-six years you couldn't find a single way to tell me that I was adopted? Not when we found out I was a witch, or when we went through all that therapy after the war, or the other day when you saw that Mrs Parkinson—my _birth mother_ —was dead? I know you got the _Daily Prophet_ announcing that she passed."

I was seething. Absolutely livid. I could hear the rushing sound of blood in my ears, coupled with the dryness in my mouth. I couldn't imagine a single reason why my parents would keep this from me—what could possibly have prevented them from telling me that I was adopted? Confusion and betrayal barely scratched the surface of my emotions when there was so much more going on.

"We _couldn't_ tell you," my mother repeated pointedly, and I turned to look at her. She searched my face for something, perhaps a sign that I was understanding her. "We wanted to. But we _couldn't_."

Something in the letter that I hadn't understood earlier clicked into place. My birth mother said that they vowed protection and love while she vowed security and stability. It hadn't been a figure of speech. She had ensured my safety by taking away my parents' ability to tell me anything.

"You were spelled not to." It wasn't a question.

"We can explain now, though. Orielda had to be the one to tell you, either in person or with a letter. Please, Hermione, please let us explain."

I wiped at the wet tracks on my cheeks and sat back down, feeling completely drained. It was like I had been hit with emotional whiplash—going from one extreme to the next in a matter of moments. I was certain my anger would return, but I decided to take advantage of the calmness I felt from the possibility of answers.

"Did you read the whole letter?" my mum asked, settling into the chair across from me.

I shook my head. "I couldn't. I just—" I swallowed the lump in my throat "—I needed to see you."

"Alright, that's okay. We can start at the beginning."

Tucking my feet up onto the sofa, I sat cross legged and waited for them to start. My eyes drifted over to the mantel above the fireplace and all of the family photos that were displayed there—one from my first ballet recital, my parents and I in front of a Christmas tree in Paris the year before I went to Hogwarts, and even one of Harry, Ron and I right after finishing school. An aged photo of my parents sat on the edge, taken around the time I was born, and I suddenly wondered who had been behind the camera.

So many memories on one shelf, each of them slightly tainted now that I knew there were secrets and lies behind it all.

My parents looked at each other, a softness in their eyes. They had this uncanny ability to communicate with each other without having to say a word. I had picked up on some of their cues over the years, like the fact that when my dad nodded, he was conceding to whatever my mum wanted.

His chin dipped slightly.

I waited.

She opened her mouth first.

"We were struggling—struggling to conceive, struggling to start our own clinic, and it was causing struggles with our marriage. We were young and stupid and thought life would be easy and suddenly it wasn't. The life your father and I had dreamed of wasn't coming to fruition and it was heartbreaking."

I'd heard the start of this story countless times, the one that started with two newly graduated dentists and their desire to start their own practice. I usually tuned them out, especially when I'd heard it all before, but I was starting to wonder how much of the truth they'd been able to tell me then.

If they were spelled to keep things hidden from me, was the story I'd heard even close to being true?

"One afternoon, I think it was early March of 1979, your father and I were spending an afternoon in London—one of our date nights, you know—and I _literally_ bumped into Orielda," my mum continued, picking at the hem of her blouse the way she always did when she was nervous. "I offered to buy her a tea to make up for it and we quickly realised how much we had in common with her. We knew that she didn't have much in the way of family support at the time and offered a friendship. Within a month or so she told us about her pregnancy and that she couldn't keep the baby because of family pressures. We told her about our struggles to conceive and it all just seemed to make sense."

"So you just decided to take me off her hands? Was it even a legal adoption?" I asked.

Her eyes widened, glistening at my accusation. "Of course you were! Both Muggle and magical. Once we agreed to the adoption, Orielda told us about magic. We almost backed out—"

"But we didn't," my father interjected. He looked scared, as if the thought of them almost not adopting me was the greatest concern right now. "We weren't sure if we'd be able to give you a normal life. How could we understand what you were going through when we'd never experienced it ourselves?"

I thought back to the times when my accidental magic had appeared, sending me into a fit of embarrassment and shame, and how my parents—especially my father—had always been there to console me. Their hesitation made sense, but clearly something had happened that changed their minds.

"Okay, so then what?" I chewed on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from spewing out a thousand other questions.

"When Orielda began to explain magic to us, she also told us the real reason why she wasn't able to keep you. That was in the letter right? About her husband?" my mum asked and I nodded, feeling numb all over. "Good. She explained that there was a war of sorts happening in her world and that you needed to be kept away from her world until your magic presented itself and you went to Hogwarts."

Both my parents looked so calm, sitting on their matching chairs, their fingers laced in the space between them. I could tell by the creases between my father's eyes and the way my mum's fingers wouldn't settle that they were nervous. Had a stranger walked in, they would have never suspected that such an intense and eye-opening conversation was happening.

I held up my hand to stop my mum's speech, my thoughts finally catching up with her words. "Wait. She knew there was a war happening and that I needed to be protected because I was the illegitimate child of a pureblood house, yet she sent me to a _Muggle_ home? In the middle of a war where Muggles were being attacked? How does that make any sense?"

My mum picked at the cuticles on her free hand. "It was safer to have you here than to have someone in the magical world find out."

"I'm not even going to try and understand that logic." I shook my head and focused my attention on the birds flying outside the front window. "She used an Unbreakable Vow with you, didn't she?"

"She did. Mr MacManus was the binder for us. We vowed not to discuss the adoption or our knowledge of magic with you until Orielda did, and she vowed magical and financial security for us."

"What does that mean? Magical and financial security?"

"Up until your eighteenth birthday, our home was warded. There were charms and enchantments to ensure that anyone with intent to harm you couldn't enter. I don't think they could even see the house."

The muscles in my stomach clenched, and the sensation of being punched in the gut settled over me. "And financially?" I snapped.

My mother took a deep breath and squeezed my father's hand for reassurance. For the first time that day, she cast her eyes down. "A large amount in the beginning to ensure that we were able to open our own dental office and monthly payments afterwards."

"I was a financial transaction?!" The anger I'd been repressing threatened to bubble to the surface. "Is that why you adopted me? Because it gave you what you always wanted?"

My father spoke up. "Hermione, _you_ were what we always wanted. We told Orielda that we didn't want the money. We would do whatever it took to give you the best life possible, but she insisted that we take the offering."

The story of my parents' struggles early on flooded my memory once more. When I was fourteen and begging them to let me buy the most expensive dress for the Yule Ball, they sat me down and told me about my great uncle who had passed away just before I was born. My mum had told me through choked words that he had left a large sum of money to our family. At the time, I thought she was just emotional over losing someone she had been close to—and who helped her and my dad out when they needed it—but now I knew better. She was trying to fight the Vow.

She had told me that one day I'd inherit money from his will, but for now I'd need to settle for something a little less pricey.

The inheritance... Mr MacManus had mentioned that I was included alongside Pansy for the Parkinson inheritance. My gut twisted and the uneasy feeling of receiving money from someone I had never met—more so than it had when I thought it was just from a great uncle.

I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes and breathed deeply. My thoughts were chaotic as this new information tried to slot itself into places where other things once lived. It was like trying to organise my library at home, except all of the books were in a language I didn't understand.

"We know this is confusing," my mum said. "I always hoped that Orielda would be here to tell you everything—she would be able to answer your questions so much better than we can—but we will answer them, Hermione. Whatever you want to know, we'll tell you."

"I think I need some time and space to process this."

"It's okay, sweetie. We know it's a lot." My dad's voice was calm and soothing, using the same tone he had when I was growing up and would have bursts of accidental magic that I didn't understand.

Standing from the sofa, I wandlessly and wordlessly summoned my bag. My mum handed me Orielda's letter, her eyes open wide with worry.

"Will we see you on Sunday for dinner?" she asked.

I hesitated, unsure of the answer. My parents and I had a biweekly dinner tradition that had been going strong for the past four years. Only twice in that time did we have to cancel for one reason or another, and both times my mum still made sure to have takeaway sent to my house.

"I'm not sure." My voice wavered. "I'll let you know."

My mum nodded, sadness clear in her eyes. "We love you."

Neither of my parents showed any signs of standing up and for that I was thankful.

"I know," I whispered. Tossing some powder into the fireplace, I called out my address and stepped in, allowing the flames to take me away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm completely blown away by the response from the first chapter! Thank you for all the love <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I haven't responded to everyone's comments from last chapter but I've read them all and appreciate the time you took to leave one! They mean so much to me <3

**14—15 October 2005**

My flat felt different. Similar to how it was when I was at my parents' place, I felt like I didn't belong here.

After finishing at Hogwarts, Ginny and I decided to move into a flat together. Since her Quidditch schedule was quite full, she was usually only home a few nights a week and every second weekend. It worked well for both of us but when she was moved from a reserve to a starting position, it became too hard for her to travel back and forth all the time.

On days like today, I missed her presence more than anything. Even when she was away, little mementos of her littered the place. I missed the consistency of coming home to find discarded socks and half-drunk mugs of tea scattered around the flat. In the beginning, her untidy habits nearly drove me to look for my own place, but she kindly pointed out that I was no better—leaving stacks of books on every surface and not doing a better job of cleaning up Crookshanks' fur.

Walking into my room, I toed off my shoes and let my robe slide to the floor, leaving me in just my knickers and bra. I grabbed an oversized Hogwarts jumper I'd stolen from Ron when we'd dated and pulled it over my head.

Crookshanks let out a loud meow from his spot on top of my bookshelf and stretched his paw out. He slowly blinked a few times before tucking his head under his paw once more. The older he got, the less interested he was in coming to say hello when I got home. Not that he had ever been the friendliest cat, even in his prime.

Sighing and sitting on the edge of my bed, I knew I should finish reading the letter from Orielda, but I just couldn't handle any more today.

I wanted to cry and scream and just forget it all.

Perhaps Andrew had been on to something when he suggested breaking things. Not that I believed violence was the answer to anything—the war had certainly solidified my view on that—but the adrenaline rush would have been nice.

I warred with the idea of exercising, but as quickly as the thought came, I banished it with a humourless snort. If Harry ever found out I had gone for a run, I was certain he would try to admit me to St Mungo's for mind healing.

"What do I do, Crooks?" I asked, not expecting an answer.

Lying back, I stared up at the ceiling. I'd charmed it to look like a clear night sky when I first moved in, knowing that I would miss the Great Hall. The small orbs of light glittered above me and a shooting star whizzed across my view. I closed my eyes and made a wish, just like my dad had taught me when I was younger.

Another pang of betrayal pressed against my chest at the thought of my dad.

I couldn't do this. I couldn't spend all night lying in bed thinking of the million and one ways my parents had lied to me. I checked the clock on my nightstand. Harry would be done work and back home by this point, so I grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, penning him a quick note and asking what his plans for the evening were.

Rolling the note as I walked, I moved to the kitchen where my owl, Talia, was perched. She hooted at me softly and fluttered her wings. When she nuzzled her head against my hand, I scratched behind her ears softly. At least with Crookshanks' lack of affection, I still had my girl to love me.

"Take this to Harry," I instructed, tying the missive to her leg, "and wait for a response."

She hooted again before taking off through the open window.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and leaned against my kitchen counter; waiting and drinking, waiting and drinking. The warm bitterness relieved some of the tension I'd been feeling, which made sense seeing as I'd yet to have a cup that day and my body had been craving it since I woke up.

I used to joke with Harry that coffee could solve all problems, and while I knew it wouldn't do that for me today, it did feel nice to have the release.

Talia came back just as I finished my second cup, a note tied to her leg. She called for me and shook her leg to get my attention. Setting my cup in the sink, I moved over to the windowsill and untied the scroll, sparing a few scratches to her head once more. Closing her eyes, she sank down on her perch and relaxed.

_H,_

_A few of us are meeting down at the Leaky at seven. You're coming too and I'm not taking no for an answer. I want to hear about your meeting._

_-H_

Harry's insistence that I join them prickled at me. I wasn't sure if the Leaky would be the best place for me to tell him about my change in blood status, but the thought of spending the night alone in my flat felt suffocating. I vanished the note and ran my hand through my hair, snagging it on a few knots along the way. If I was going to leave the house and not look like Bellatrix at the final battle, I needed a shower.

* * *

Shortly after seven, I grabbed my wand and my purse and made my way to the Leaky. It was as busy as I'd expected it to be, given that it was a Friday night, but I found Harry and the others easily.

"Hey! You made it!" he called, standing up to hug me. "What're you drinking?"

"Firewhisky," I answered quickly. "I need it."

He gave me a curious look but nodded and made his way to the bar. I settled into the empty chair beside his and said hello to everyone else. Neville and Luna were sitting across from me, and Ron was sitting at the head of the table between Harry and Luna. It was the usual group of us, plus Ginny when she was in town. Even Dean and Seamus had been by a few times for drinks, but since adopting their son last year, they'd been by less.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" asked Luna, her voice light and faerie-like.

I shrugged. "It's been a day."

"I can tell. The wrackspurts really seem to like you right now. I'm sure it'll get better though."

Luna's view of the world always made everything seem so easy, so simple, and I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe that if I had a drink and laughed it off with my friends that it would get better. And I knew it would, even as confused and hurt as I was in that moment.

Harry returned with a round of drinks for everyone. The first sip burned as it slid down my throat, but I welcomed the warmth that pooled in my belly.

"So," he started, "what happened today?"

I chewed on my lip and nervously spun the ring that I wore on my right hand. How did one approach a subject like this? Was I supposed to just blurt it out and word vomit the explanation? Did I need to prepare them for this? What was the social etiquette behind any of what had happened today?

"Hermione?" Ron prompted, looking concerned.

I pulled in a lungful of air through my nose and blew it out slowly through pursed lips.

"I was called to the Department of Family Affairs," I began. "Pansy was there and we—"

"Pansy? Parkinson?" asked Harry. "Why was she there?"

"Her mother died on Sunday. It was in all the papers."

He blushed. "Right, sorry. Go on."

"She wasn't expecting to see me there and when Mr MacManus started—"

Ron cut me off. "Mr MacManus? Isn't he the one who helped you with the paperwork for your parents after the war? What did he want?"

I clenched my fists anxiously. "Yes, and if you'll let me finish, I'll tell you." Ron lifted his hands defensively so I kept talking. "Mr MacManus was in charge of Pansy's mother's will as well, and he needed both of us there. I—well, I… As it turns out, Pansy and I share the same mother."

With the truth out in the open, I watched my friends process my words. Luna seemed to catch on the quickest, her eyes widening briefly before returning to normal and smiling. Neville looked between myself and his girlfriend, his eyebrows pulled together. As she stared at him, I noticed that they shared the same ability my parents had to communicate silently.

"Oh, and father," I added quickly. "We share the same mother and father."

"Why didn't you tell me you were adopted?" Ron asked, the corner of his mouth turned down and his eyes wide.

The sad look on his face picked at something inside me.

"I didn't know," I whispered, looking only at him.

Ron and I had dated during our eighth year, but once we finished school and I began to work on my potions mastery and he on his Auror training, we realised quickly that a relationship just wasn't sustainable for us. I loved him dearly and I knew he loved me, but it just wasn't the type of love to build a proper relationship on. We parted ways and, after a few months, we were able to find footing as friends.

"Pansy's mum, Orielda, left us this letter that explains everything, only it doesn't _really_. I still have so many questions and my parents are only able to tell me what they know, which isn't nearly as much as I'd like."

"Wait, so that means you're a pureblood?" Harry drummed his fingers on the table. "How did you not know until now? Wouldn't McGonagall have known when she brought you your letter?"

My shoulders lifted slightly. "I don't know. I know that there was an Unbreakable Vow between my parents and Orielda that stopped them from telling anyone about my parentage. I need to talk to MacManus about what Orielda did to my files at the Ministry and Hogwarts. I'm guessing that he helped her with all of it."

Ron released a puff of air through his teeth. "So what now? I mean, you're older than Pansy, right? So does that mean you're the heiress to the Parkinson estate, or…?"

"I don't know. Pansy and I left after reading the letter. I'm sure there's a lot more to it, but I just couldn't handle hearing anything else today." I downed the rest of my drink, slamming it against the table with a bit too much force. "I'll have to go back on Monday and sort things out, but I wanted to take the weekend and just let it all settle in."

Harry slid the remainder of his firewhisky towards me. "You need this more than I do, I'd wager."

With a snort, I shook my head. "Thanks, but no thanks. If I have another firewhisky you'll be carrying me home."

"Isn't this a bit like when you found out you were a witch?" Neville asked. "I mean, you've just learned that your entire life isn't what you thought it to be. Isn't this the same?"

"Not really." I worried my bottom lip between my teeth. "I mean, learning I was a witch made things make sense. It was like that final piece of the puzzle snapping into place. Now…now it's like someone has told me that there was always another half. It doesn't change the fact that the first one is complete, but it complicates the image. I can't look at it the same way."

Neville nodded his head but I wasn't convinced he understood. Hell, I didn't even understand.

"Now that the Unbreakable Vow has been broken, I can ask my parents more questions. I know I'm not ready for that right now, but I'm glad to know that when the time comes, I can go to them." I shifted in my seat, sliding forward so my elbows were on the table, my chin resting in my palms. "Is it strange to feel loss for someone you've never met?"

"I miss my parents every day, and I don't remember them at all," Harry responded with a casual shrug. "I don't want to say it gets easier, but it does. Not to mention, your life has been completely turned upside down by this. It's natural that you'll be grieving this change."

"Grief feels too powerful though. Pansy is grieving. I'm...processing. I think I just need to stop hyper-fixating on it. Until Monday comes, I can't do anything about it. "

Harry's hand settled over mine and squeezed it tightly. "Ginny has a Quidditch match in Kenmare tomorrow. I know you don't usually like coming to these things, but it might be a good way to take your mind off of things. I won't even tease you if you decide to bring a book and read."

"I'm glad you said that," I quipped, grinning for the first time since leaving the Ministry. "I was going to bring a book anyway."

* * *

As the night wore on, Neville and Luna left, claiming that he was still tired from his recent trip to South America, but I had a feeling it was more likely they wanted to spend part of the evening alone.

I rested my head against Harry's shoulder and looked across the table at Ron, who had shifted to Luna's vacant seat. It was nice to know that even when the world felt chaotic and uncertain, I still had my boys by my side.

"I love you guys," I murmured, lifting the bottle of my second Butterbeer in a toast. Harry and Ron tapped the necks of theirs against mine and we all drank.

Ron sighed and leaned back in his seat, clasping his hands behind his head. "You know what I could go for right now? Ice cream."

"You _always_ want ice cream," Harry replied.

"No, wait." I sat up and looked at Ron intensely. "I want ice cream too. You think Fortescue's is open?"

"Absolutely," Ron said, checking his watch. "It's barely eleven and I know they're open late on Fridays."

I tipped back the remainder of my drink and stood. "Finish up, boys. I'm buying."

We each tossed some Galleons on the table and exited to Diagon Alley. Given the time of night, the street was quieter than it had been earlier, but there were still groups of witches and wizards wandering about. I linked arms with Ron and Harry and led them down the street to our destination.

When we got to Fortescue's, Harry and Ron grabbed one of the tables outside and waited for me while I ordered—Triple Chocolate Frog for Ron, Pumpkin Pastie Pieces for Harry, and Sugar Quill Sorbet for me.

I levitated the ice cream cones to where they were sitting. Fortescue's had charmed their patio to remain warm all year in order to keep business going during the colder months, which had proven to be a good thing, considering Ron tended to crave ice cream even in the dead of winter.

As the boys talked about the upcoming training course they would be attending for work, I watched the people walking past. I recognised a few of them from Hogwarts and they waved to us, but mostly we were left alone.

"Hermione," Ron said quietly, his gaze focused on something behind me, "Parkinson is on her way over here."

I swallowed the ice cream that was in my mouth. "Like to talk?"

"It would appear that way," he mumbled just as Pansy approached our table on the other side of the patio's low fence.

The distinct smell of alcohol and cigarettes burned in my nose and I could tell without looking at her that she was intoxicated. In typical Pansy fashion, she looked effortlessly beautiful in tight black pants and a low cut satin top that showed far more cleavage than I would be comfortable displaying myself. Her lips were painted red and curled up at me in distaste.

"Listen, _Granger_ ," she began, "I don't care what those papers say—you are not my sister and you are not stealing my inheritance."

"Hey, step off," Ron said, ready to stand and defend me.

I reached across the table, grabbing his hand, and shook my head. "Don't. It's not worth it." Directing my attention back to Pansy, I said, "I don't need—or want—your money. I'm going back to Mr MacManus on Monday and clearing this up."

She opened her mouth and inhaled quickly, clearly not expecting me to agree with her. "If you're going, then so am I. I'll contact Andrew and have him meet us there at eight, sharp."

"Pansy!"

My eyes flickered to the group of people waiting for Pansy a few feet back. It was the same group of Slytherins she'd hung around with in school and was photographed with every weekend; Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, Theo Nott, Blaise Zabini, and Draco Malfoy.

"Come on, Pans," Daphne called again.

Pansy's eyes raked over me and she lifted her chin. "Don't be late, Granger," she said before turning her back on us and walking away.

As soon as she reached her friends again, Malfoy wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into his touch and laughed at something Tracey said. I watched as they walked away, wondering if she had told them what happened today. If she was as set on fixing things as she appeared to be, would she want to admit to them that she had a secret older sister that may or may not be threatening to take away everything she'd been raised to believe she would have?

More importantly, would they even believe her if she told them?

* * *

I spent my Saturday surrounded by Harry, Ron, and Ginny and their overwhelming desire to remind me that everything was normal.

We waited until after the game to tell Ginny the news; we hadn't wanted to upset her and affect her performance. She reacted as well as I'd expected—laughter, shock, loads of questions, and then beer, though she claimed the last was to celebrate her victory. There was a small pub not far from the pitch and we'd found a table there to spend the remainder of the afternoon together.

"So Trina has been trying to perfect the Wollongong Shimmy for the past three weeks but her grip was all wrong and I keep trying to show her how you taught me, Harry, but she's just so full of herself sometimes," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "I clearly know what I'm talking about. I've been on the team twice as long as she has."

I nodded my head as if I understood every Quidditch move on the planet. Some of the terms were familiar after spending years listening to them all talk shop, but there was no way I'd ever be able to explain it back to someone.

Ron threw his head back and groaned. "How is she messing up the grip? That's the easiest bit!"

"Her thumb and pinky were hooked and it made her upper body so stiff. She zigged when she should have zagged and we nearly collided in the middle of a scrimmage."

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Harry slide his hand across the table and steal one of the chips off my plate. I glared at him, knowing that my intimidation tactics had run their course years ago. He flashed me a grin and popped the fried snack into his mouth.

I slid out from the booth. "I need the loo, and when I get back there had better still be a plate of chips, _Harry_."

He snagged another, his green eyes crinkling in the corners.

"Oh, I'll come with," Ginny said and we made our way to the other side of the pub to the ladies'.

She assessed me as we washed our hands and I could tell she was dying to interrogate me.

I looked at her in the mirror. "Out with it, Gin."

"Are you really alright? I know Harry and Ron aren't always the best with feelings and things and this is a huge change for you."

Turning to face her, I rested my hip against the sink and tried to analyse my thoughts. Truthfully, I had managed to spend the entire morning not thinking about it, and Ginny's initial reaction to the news made me believe that everything would be okay.

"I'll be fine."

"I know you _will_ be, but _are_ you? I mean, it's been just over twenty-four hours and you seem okay but I know how you process things. You don't need to internalise everything."

"I swear to you, I'm not. I'm going to the Ministry on Monday with Pansy and we're going to sort this out and then I can pretend it was all a fever dream."

Ginny eyed me sceptically, making me feel exposed. "And your parents? Are you talking to them?"

"After I sort this out. After I get some answers from MacManus, I'll talk to them," I explained. "But I'm not sure what more my parents could tell me that would make any of this better. They lied to me, Ginny. After everything we went through after the war, I thought we were past the lying."

"It sounds like they couldn't tell you. I've met your parents enough times to know that they would do anything in their power for you." She pulled me into a hug, her head resting on mine, her hand brushing over my hair soothingly. "You can call me as soon as you're done at the Ministry. I'll even Floo to London if you need me."

"Love you," I murmured into her shoulder before stepping back. "I'm impressed with you and Harry, by the way. This is the most normal I've seen you be together since the split."

"It's been over a year since we broke up and he knows I'm dating someone now, so there's nothing to be weird about. He's welcome to date other people too."

The way Ginny spoke made it seem so simple and I was jealous of that. I wished that I could just take the easy road and overlook the chaos in my life, but my overly analytical brain seemed intent on making me focus on the granular details. I _needed_ answers to questions before I could process the whole picture. I couldn't sleep until all of this was behind me.

"Are you ever going to introduce us to this mystery man? Or even tell us his name?"

Smirking, she moved backwards towards the door. "Nope," she said, enunciating the _p_. "I'll introduce you when we're ready."

I rolled my eyes but followed Ginny back out to the table and what I hoped was still the rest of my chips.


	4. Chapter 4

**17—18 October 2005**

On Sunday night, I was too nervous to sleep. My mind was racing, fixated on my upcoming meeting with Pansy. I thought of all the potential outcomes, counting each of them off with every minute that passed, knowing that it was one less I would be spending asleep. Crookshanks, who typically curled up on my bed or somewhere in my room, got fed up with my persistent tossing and turning and moved out to the living room with a loud meow. I meowed back at him before rolling over onto my stomach and screaming into my pillow.

This would be easy. The paperwork would be signed and sealed before ten and then I could swing by Flourish and Blotts to pick up another book, or three—maybe a story with a new world I could escape to. Hell, I could even bring my parents lunch. After all this was over, I wanted to sit down with them again and talk about how we could move forward—no more lies.

As the first rays of sun began to peek through my window, I gave up on attempting to sleep and opted to spend the time trying to look presentable. I'd seen Pansy's outfits and knew that she would be dressed impeccably; she'd likely take me more seriously if I dressed the part.

After showering and casting charms on my hair to tame my curls into neat ringlets down my back, I dug through my closet for something Pansy wouldn't turn her nose up at. I'd taken the day off of work, so I didn't have to worry about my outfit being lab appropriate. Settling on a burgundy sweater dress and tights, I dressed and pulled on a pair of fall boots. Right before Apparating, I wrapped my coat around me. The weather had cooled considerably since Friday.

When I arrived at the Ministry, Pansy was already waiting for me, her toe tapping against the marble floor impatiently. Just as I'd assumed, she was wearing something I'd expect to see in a film or magazine. Her black hair was styled in loose waves that hit above her shoulder, a stark contrast to the light grey cloak draped over her shoulders. She wore a tight black turtleneck and trousers that made me wonder if she owned anything that wasn't some variation of grey or black.

"Are you always late or is this some personal form of torture you've decided to bless me with this morning?" she snapped.

Ignoring her seemed like a safer idea than giving in to her obvious attempt at riling me up. "Good morning, Pansy. How are you? I had a great weekend, thanks."

"We'll wait for Andrew before signing in." It wasn't a question or a suggestion. She was taking charge of the situation, and I decided to play along.

"Whatever you say."

She turned and looked at me, her lips pursed distastefully. "I'm glad you said that. This whole thing will be much easier if you just give me what I want."

"I meant what I said on Friday," I explained, "I'm not going to try and take your money. I just want answers. Don't you?"

"Not really, no. I had a mother who loved me, and a father that wanted me—" she smirked and I felt a pang in my chest "—what questions could I possibly have left to ask?"

Before I could retort or tell her off, Andrew entered the Atrium from the Floo, three takeaway cups levitating in front of him. He offered us a friendly smile and motioned towards the cups. "Tea?"

Pansy reached forward and plucked one out of the air. "You're a doll, Andrew," she said sweetly. "You have _no idea_ how badly I've needed this."

"I figured you both might need the pick-me-up."

"Thank you." I took a sip of the drink, thankful that it was a regular breakfast blend and not one of the fancy herbal teas I'd seen in all of the shops recently. It still didn't hold a candle to a good strong coffee, but I wasn't going to complain about the free beverage. "Shall we?"

It was the same old man working behind the sign-in desk, his thick grey brows low over his eyes as he glared at me. He pushed the papers towards us, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, and I was certain if I could see his foot, it would be tapping angrily. Andrew signed us in as his guests again and we followed him to the lifts. I almost smiled at the old man as we left, but I assumed it would be taken poorly. Pansy shifted towards Andrew, doing everything in her power to avoid looking at me. It felt childish and I wondered if she had ever really grown up after we finished school.

"Hermione, how are you feeling?" Andrew asked as the lift came to a stop on our floor. Pansy moved ahead of us, her nose in the air. "Were you able to gain any clarity from your parents?"

My shoulders lifted slightly, shrugging. "A little, but not much. I'm still confused as to why it was so important to Pansy's mother that I know about my heritage even when she's gone. I could understand her telling me when she was alive, but it just feels like it's too late now. It's not as if I can build a relationship with her."

"I take it you didn't read the whole letter then?"

Heat blossomed in my cheeks and I thought of the crumpled parchment that lay somewhere in my room. "It was overwhelming."

"Pansy's mother— _your_ mother—didn't want Pansy to have to deal with her death alone. It was never her intention to have you learn this way, but her death was so sudden and there just wasn't time. You'll see in the paperwork Mr MacManus has that Orielda wanted to bring you and Pansy together, the way it always should have been."

"She had a funny way of doing it. It's been years since the war. Surely there's been plenty of opportunities," I grumbled as we approached MacManus' office where Pansy was already seated.

"So you see, there's no need for any of this. Granger has agreed not to pursue the inheritance. I don't understand why we even need to be here today."

Mr MacManus pinched the bridge of his nose. I imagined this wasn't the first time he'd had to deal with Pansy's demands, nor would it be the last.

"It's not _just_ about the money, Miss Parkinson. Your mother had very specific wishes and as her estate manager, I have to abide by them."

"Okay, but what if Granger just leaves? She could flee Britain and go somewhere far, _far_ away." Pansy's attention flickered to me briefly and I felt the coldness of her tone in my bones.

I sank into the chair next to her. "I'm right here," I said bitterly.

"I'm aware."

Andrew and Mr MacManus exchanged a look of frustration. I raised my eyebrow at them, hoping they'd hurry through whatever formalities they needed to so I could leave. Even seven years later, Pansy was acting like a spoiled brat and I could only handle being around that type of behaviour for so long.

Mr MacManus opened the folder on his desk and placed the first page in front of us. It was a legal document from the Department of Family Affairs, declaring the adoption of one Hermione Jean Granger by Evelyn and Harrison Granger. My parents' signatures were at the bottom and dated 19 September 1979.

"So it was legally and magically binding," I stated, my mouth going dry.

"It was, and this"—another paper with signatures was slid overtop of the first—"is the written copy of the Unbreakable Vow between the Grangers and Mrs Parkinson. Orielda asked that I create a copy of it for this exact reason."

"Alright, so this is all legal, we get it." Pansy waved her hand in front of herself. "What else?"

Again, the two wizards looked at each other and I felt my heart hammer in my chest. The confidence I'd had that morning about how easy this would be slipped away, leaving me with a heavy sense of dread.

"Your mother was very thorough," MacManus explained. "She had been preparing to bring Hermione back into the family from the moment she was born. Besides the letter I gave you both on Friday, she has written out her wishes for a memorial celebration, all details regarding the estate management to help you through the next year, as well as what she would like done with the things in her vault."

"Sorry, back up." I held up my hand. "What do you mean she was preparing to bring me back into the family?"

Pansy and I both leaned forward in our seats and the shared movement caught me off guard. The nagging voice in the back of my mind reminded me that we probably had a lot more in common than just this. A very, _very_ small part of me wanted to find out exactly how much.

"Since you were a minor at the time, the Grangers, erm—" MacManus cleared his throat and shifted in his seat "—your adoptive parents, had to sign on your behalf, but all of the paperwork is already complete. The day after Orielda's passing, you became Head of House."

" _What?!_ " Pansy launched herself to her feet, the palms of her hands smacking against the wood desk. "Fix it. Fix it and remove her."

As Pansy's ire over the situation escalated, I focused my attention on the paperwork in front of me. I had clearly heard what MacManus said, but the Ministry stamp on the corner of a piece of aged parchment drew my attention. So far, everything I'd been shown was signed and considered legal, but nothing had been from the Ministry.

For some reason that made it feel a little more real.

Reaching forward, I pulled the page free. It was a magical birth certificate—my birth certificate. I'd seen Harry's and it looked similar to the one in front of me, having been born outside of St Mungo's, whereas Ron's had the Healer who delivered him and a stamp from the hospital.

There were no signatures from Evelyn and Harrison Granger, no mention of the hospital where I'd been told I was born, or even the name of a Healer. Instead, it was the single signature of Orielda Parkinson, acknowledging the birth of Hermione Jean Granger on the evening of 19 September, and assigned the status of pureblood. Underneath it all was a single line I hadn't seen before.

_Adopted and removed from file._

My finger traced over Orielda's signature. "How did you get this if it was removed?" I asked, cutting off whatever Pansy had been yelling about.

"Orielda had it added to her file once the adoption was complete. As I mentioned, she had always planned on you returning to the family and wanted to make sure she had everything in order for that to happen," MacManus explained.

"I don't understand. If my parents signed something that made me the legal Head of House for the Parkinson family"—Pansy groaned in frustration—"then when was this added back to the Ministry files? And why was I never alerted about this? As an adult, shouldn't I be notified if something changes?"

MacManus stood from his desk and walked around so he was leaning against it in front of me. There was a deep look of exhaustion and sympathy in his eyes, and I wondered how long he had been preparing for this conversation. Had he, like my parents, constantly believed that Orielda would be the one to tell me this? Had he tossed and turned every day since her death, trying to think of the best way to break the news to Pansy and me?

"The forms were always in Orielda's file, just not yours. There was never a need to alert you about a change because nothing was ever touched. According to the file of Hermione Jean Granger, Muggle-born, your life was average. However, the file of Orielda Parkinson stated that her eldest daughter, Hermione Jean Granger, was a pureblood with certain roles and responsibilities."

"And the files were merged after her passing?" I asked, the pieces suddenly clicking into place. "In her will, she stated that the two people be merged so that I was officially brought into the family and all that comes with it."

"That is correct, Miss Granger," MacManus said. He reached behind him and selected a form from the file. "Here's the official paperwork."

My eyes read over the parchment quickly, seeing the dates and the signatures—all from a few months after the war.

I glanced up at Pansy who looked like she might combust if she didn't get to say something soon, and then to Andrew. He was watching her—my _sister_ —intently. Neither of them seemed to care much about reading this most recent form.

Pansy reached into her small purse and pulled out a slim cigarette. Her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed, begging me to say something. "Hope you don't mind. I smoke when I'm stressed."

" _I_ mind, Miss Parkinson," MacManus scolded. "We should be finished here shortly. As I mentioned, there isn't anything for you to sign."

"So then why am I still here?"

Andrew, who had been quiet through all of this, spoke up, his words directed at Pansy. "While Hermione is technically the Head of House, your mother knew that you would be more prepared to run things. She included in her final will that you are to co-manage things. Hermione will have the final say and signature as the Head, but everything should be done as a pair."

"She specified her memorial as something she wanted you to do together," MacManus added.

"You can't be serious, Andrew," Pansy protested, ignoring MacManus' words entirely. "You want me to do all of the work and get none of the credit? That's absurd!"

His smile softened and he reached for her hand. "Think of it as a bonding experience, Pans. Maybe you'll grow to like each other."

"What happens if I don't agree to any of this?" I looked at MacManus again. "Imprisonment? Fines? What?"

He sighed. "You could leave or ignore your responsibilities, but it would prevent Pansy from making any decisions on behalf of the House. Essentially a standstill. The House of Parkinson would crumble. Miss Parkinson—erm, Pansy, wouldn't be able to access any of the family vaults, which holds the predominant amount of the Parkinson funds."

"So in order not to screw Pansy over, I have to do this?"

MacManus nodded his head solemnly.

I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. I didn't want this. I didn't wake up on Friday and ask to be granted the title Head of House Parkinson. I had never wanted to take this away from Pansy, and I knew that the guilt would eat me alive if I left her with nothing.

This wasn't something I could even decide on my own. Turning to face her, I shrugged my shoulders. "Looks like we're going to be spending a lot of time together." I tried to keep my voice steady but I knew Pansy would see right through me.

She worked her jaw back and forth, the unlit cigarette still balanced between her fingers. Her grey eyes were fierce, judging me, making me feel exposed. I kept waiting for her to say something but she never did.

"Hermione," MacManus said, drawing my attention back to him. He moved back to the other side of his desk and began collecting all the papers, tucking them back in the folder. "I can make a copy of this if you'd like. I imagine being able to see all of this will help with the adjustment. You'll also find all of Orielda's wishes for a memorial."

I nodded my head numbly. "Please."

"Granger"—Pansy stood from her seat and handed me a slip of parchment and quill from her purse—"write down your address. I'll be there tomorrow at one o'clock." She looked me over once more while I wrote down the Floo address. "And wear something that doesn't look like you bought it on sale."

"I work tomorrow. I can't just take more time off at the drop of a Knut."

"Tomorrow. One o'clock."

Not bothering to wait for my response, she turned and left the room, her heels tapping against the floor.

MacManus handed me the duplicated file and I stood as well.

"I'm sure I'll be in touch if I have any questions," I said, shaking both their hands and making my way towards the door. Just as I was about to cross the threshold, I turned back and looked at them. "Thank you both for your time. I know this must not have been easy."

"Just doing our jobs, Hermione." MacManus smiled at me. "Try not to over-analyse everything. Though, if you're anything like Orielda, I'm sure you will anyway."

As I left the Ministry, I couldn't help but wonder what else I had in common with the women of House Parkinson.

* * *

Since I felt guilty about taking more time off from work, I went in early on Tuesday so I could stay on top of our orders. I was also hoping the time I spent in the lab would give me a chance to clear my mind of the chaos that had overtaken my life.

Mr Belfast looked surprised when he came into the shop at half past six and found me part way through making a batch of contraception potion to stock the shelves upstairs.

"Miss Granger, I wasn't expecting you to be in so early!"

I could hear the hidden meaning behind his words—I'd yet to arrive before seven in the four years that I'd worked there.

"I just wanted to get ahead," I explained. I reached for the _Capparis aphylla_ and began to slit the edges, exposing the inside of the plant where all the medicinal ingredients were. "I'm hoping this afternoon is the last time I'll need to be off work for a while."

He waved his hand nonchalantly. "Not a problem. You rarely take vacation as it is."

"Yes, well, I'm not quite sure this should count as a vacation, but I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless."

After that, he went back upstairs to monitor the store and I continued my work.

Slice. Chop. Squeeze. Press. Grind.

My movements were quick, yet precise. I knew the best way to prepare the ingredients so that the potion would be strongest and focused my attention on ensuring the quality of everything. Ever since sixth year when Harry bested me in Potions, I'd been determined to learn alternative ways to prepare things. Mr Belfast had taught me a lot and often encouraged me to try new things, so long as it was done safely. It reminded me so much of Snape's teachings—the way he altered what was written in the texts and taught us different ways to make things, it was so reminiscent of our shared mentor.

At eleven, I started to bottle the potions and send them to their respective locations. Some were for pickups later that day and others were to be sold upstairs. I set charms to thoroughly clean each of the workspaces and packed up my bag to head home. I could hear Mr Belfast's muffled voice through the floor so I scribbled a quick note letting him know what items were completed.

Shutting the door to the lab and putting up the wards, I made my way into the main part of the shop, prepared to leave the note by the cash register and slip out without disturbing anyone. There were a few people scattered throughout the store looking at various items for sale, but the one that caught my attention was speaking to Mr Belfast. The man's back was to me, but it was clear as day who it was.

"Ah, Miss Granger, taking off already?" Mr Belfast asked when he saw me.

I suppressed a groan—trying not to visibly react to the fact that I'd just been called out—and nodded, my pace faltering slightly. "Yes. I need to do a few things before my appointment at one."

The man talking to my boss turned his head and looked at me over his shoulder. His eyes followed me as I passed them, causing my body to stiffen.

"Granger," he called, halting me in my footsteps. His voice carried the same sense of entitlement that it always had, but it was smoother now and caused something in my belly to tighten.

I turned around, my knuckles white from gripping the strap of my bag so tightly. "Malfoy."

"You're seeing Pansy today." Not a question, just a fact.

"She told you then?" He nodded his head once so I continued. "She's coming to my flat so I need to get back there and make sure it's up to her standards."

One side of Malfoy's mouth lifted, a small dimple forming on his cheek. "She likes Earl Grey tea. Served hot, nothing in it."

My brow pulled together for a moment, confused by his words, before I realised that he was actually helping me. It had been years since I'd spoken to Malfoy and there he was being a decent human being. Perhaps the ability for him, and people like him, to change did exist.

"Thanks." I gave him a small, tentative smile. "That's good to know."

He shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Have to look out for you now that you're one of us."

There it was. The truth behind it all. His kindness only stretched so far as to take care of his own, which included me now that I was a pureblood.

I clenched my hands into tight fists at my side, trying to remain calm while still in the shop. As understanding as Mr Belfast was, I didn't think he'd be too pleased if I hexed one of his customers and I certainly wasn't ready to lose my job—inheritance or not.

Taking a deep breath, I nodded. "How _kind_ ," I bit back sarcastically. I spun on my heel and stormed from the shop, not bothering to look back at him.

As it turned out, people like Malfoy didn't change—a fact that made me certain this afternoon's meeting with Pansy would be absolutely dreadful.

* * *

Though my flat was connected to the magical world, it was located in a Muggle building in a Muggle neighbourhood in North London. Many of my neighbours were witches and wizards who, like me, grew up around Muggles and enjoyed having electricity in their homes. It was convenient for me to have my parents over to visit since they could just drive here, but I was also able to connect my Floo to the network without concerning the Ministry.

Normally I loved my flat and all its quirks, but today, while trying to prepare for Pansy's visit and Malfoy's words nagged at me, I couldn't help but notice everything wrong with it. The front door that I needed to tug a little harder on to close, the kitchen window that wouldn't click shut and required magic to prevent the winter winds from cooling the entire place down, and the copious amounts of Muggle technology I had throughout the place.

I cast a cleansing charm over myself to take away any lingering odors from the lab and added some additional Sleekeazy Potion to my hair in an attempt to soothe my curls. I regretted making potions that required such high heat this morning, knowing what it would do to my hair. It was a miracle that Malfoy hadn't commented on the lion's mane I was sporting by the time I left.

Promptly at one, Pansy came through the Floo. I was thankful for the fact that I'd added a soot-cleaning charm, knowing that she would have berated me had her outfit been ruined.

"Pansy," I greeted, trying to be kind and welcoming. "How are you?"

"As fine as one can be on a day like today."

I pressed my lips together and hummed a quiet response. "Tea? I just put the kettle on."

She nodded, her eyes darting around the room and taking everything in. It was strange seeing Pansy Parkinson in my living room looking completely out of place and uncomfortable. Her general disposition didn't fit with the small area, and her purse alone looked like it cost more than my rent. But there she was, enduring it all with a slightly sour look on her face.

I prepared the tea and levitated it ahead of me into the sitting room. She had selected one of the armchairs by the fireplace, so I sat on the sofa and placed the tea service on the table between us. Even though Malfoy had told me how Pansy drank her tea, I still added some milk, sugar, and lemon slices to the tray, not wanting to clue her in that I already knew things about her. I was certain it would set her off if she felt the playing field was uneven between us.

"So," I began, stirring in milk to my cup, "what did you want to talk about today?" I was careful to cross my legs at the ankle and sit up straighter like I'd seen the royal family do in photoshoots.

She took a sip of her tea and then rested the cup on the saucer, still holding it in front of her. "It appears my mother had this delusional idea that we were to become friends through all of this, and while I have no intention of ever considering you my sister or anything remotely close to that, I also don't want to see the Parkinson estate turn to nothing. You may not understand it, but it's incredibly important that the Sacred Twenty-Eight families remain standing. If I have to tolerate you enough to get things done, then so be it."

"I don't want this any more than you do, Pansy. I didn't ask for this or—"

"So you've said." She took another sip of her tea and dabbed her lips with a cloth napkin. "I didn't come here to discuss our feelings. You have the dumber two-thirds of the Golden Trio for that nonsense. Today is about work—specifically my mother's memorial."

I bit down on the inside of my lip to stop myself from saying something I shouldn't. Pansy was wrong about Harry and Ron, but I knew that in that moment it wouldn't matter what I said about them. If I wanted this to be over quickly, I knew I'd have to grin and bear it.

Harry and Ron would understand.

Waving my hand, I summoned the papers that Orielda had drawn up for her memorial. They were more detailed than I had expected, but still left room for Pansy and me to make decisions. The first of which would need to be the date.

Pansy pulled the papers towards her and levitated them in front of her so she could drink her tea and read. I was impressed with her ability to perform wordless and wandless magic while reading. It was something I had perfected while still in Hogwarts, but the multitasking aspect had tripped up many of my classmates when they tried.

"We should set a date for the memorial soon," I said. "Are there any customs around that I should be aware of?"

She shook her head. "Not for the memorial. It looks like my mother wanted a private burial with just immediate family—it's scheduled for Sunday morning—and a larger party to celebrate her at a later date." Pansy scanned a page once more, flipping it over to read the back. "Four weeks from Saturday. That's when the party should be."

"Isn't that a little late to hold a memorial for someone?"

"It'll be her birthday, and I see no better way to celebrate her life than doing so on her birthday. Believe me, Granger, it's what she would have wanted."

I summoned my planner and quill from my bag and added the date to the calendar. "Alright, what next?"

"Guestlist, invitations, caterer, decorations, and entertainment. We can host it at the estate." She glanced at me over her teacup. "I assume you're alright if I decide everything?"

"Of course. I'm only Head of House as a formality and accountant. I trust you know what you're doing."

Pansy pressed her lips together tightly and hummed. "I'm glad your bossy personality doesn't extend beyond the classroom. Perhaps we'll get along."

* * *

The remainder of Pansy's visit went relatively smooth. I took notes on all of our— _her_ —decisions and set deadlines for each of them. I was shocked she even let me help at all, especially since she continued to remind me of how I didn't even know her mother. And if I hadn't known her, how could I know what she would have wanted and why was I even involved?

And Pansy had a point. I knew nothing about the woman that birthed me, and yet I was supposed to host her memorial party.

"What was she like?" I asked suddenly.

Pansy lowered her teacup, her eyes squinting at me, assessing me. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything. I'm sitting here helping you plan something incredibly intimate for a person I never even spoke to. I'm not even sure I ever saw her in person."

"You did," she said matter-of-factly. "She took me to the train station every year and was there when we got back. You would have crossed paths."

I knew she was right, but there was still this nagging feeling I had. I wanted to know Orielda Parkinson.

"Okay, but what was she like?" I asked again. "What were her hobbies and passions? Was she a good mother? Did she—"

The clinking of china stopped me. Pansy stood up abruptly and set her cup and saucer down on the table with a bit too much force, causing the plate to crack down the middle.

"Owl me your notes. I'll take care of the rest and send you the information."

"Pansy, wait," I stood from the sofa and walked over to her. She stood a bit taller than me but I assumed that was mostly due to the heels she was wearing. "I didn't mean to pry. I just—"

"You just thought you could learn everything about someone in an afternoon. You can't, Granger. My mother is not a textbook you can study. There is no test at the end of this. She was _my_ mother. Some birth certificate and a couple of letters from her isn't going to change that." Her breathing was erratic and it was the least composed I'd ever seen her. "You are not my sister, you will never _be_ my sister. We are not family. Do you understand? Your _job_ is to sign the paperwork that I am deemed unable to and ensure that I have money in my vault. As far as I'm concerned, you're no more than a micromanaging boss that's just trying to get in my way."

Shocked, I stumbled backwards a few steps.

"I'll contact you when I need you," she said, her voice hard.

I watched speechless as Pansy left my flat in a flash of green flames. Left alone, I sank to the floor, my back resting against the side of the sofa, my body suddenly feeling completely drained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading! As a heads up, I will be switching the posting schedule to every second Wednesday for the next couple chapters. I have a massive project going on with work and I know that if I tried to balance that and this fic, one of them would suffer (along with my own sanity).
> 
> The next chapter will go up on February 17th!
> 
>  **February 15 update:** I have to take a temporary hiatus while I deal with some things. I appreciate all of you for reading and can't wait to be back and sharing the rest of the story with you when I'm ready.

**Author's Note:**

> Fic on temporary hiatus. 
> 
> Come find me on tumblr @BreathofthePhoenix for updates


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